


Swing it Like You Used To

by Anonymous



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Banter, Bodyswap, Breathplay, Ex Sex, Hair-pulling, Held Down, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Voyeurism, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-19 08:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The last time he came here he had been singlemindedly focused on getting his hook back, and he hadn’t had much chance to think about how it used to be, back when he and Tamatoa had been...more.Now, jumping down into Lalotai like it was nothing, like it could have been any afternoon he was stopping by to get into trouble, is a wild rush of feeling. He tries to keep a smile off his face, just in case.Maui pretends he has a totally legitimate excuse for checking in on Tamatoa after leaving him stuck on his back.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dylan_m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dylan_m/gifts).



> OH BOY I spent a lot of time covering my face while writing this. Thank you for requesting some of my favorite kinks of all time, and letting me have fun with these two! I really like them, and like thinking about their past (and their future!) I hope you enjoy.

It isn’t like he’s been thinking about it a _lot_. There are plenty other things to do, now that he’s free. Now that he’s got his hook back and is slightly less burdened by that whole huge weight of shame thing. Life is pretty good when you don’t have to waste energy pretending you don’t care that no one loves you anymore. It’s also pretty good when you’re not, like, eternally trapped on an island. And you have actual friends, even if they’re obnoxious mortal teenage chiefs in training. Okay, so. _A_ friend. 

Anyway.

The point is that Maui has been spending a lot of time travelling ( _flying_ , because damn, he’s missed that), building that fanbase back up. So he hasn’t had a lot of time to dwell on the whole Tamatoa thing. 

But he does, still, sometimes. It’ll hit him in the small spaces between action, which aren't many. He’s had enough time to sit and self-reflect to last him the rest of eternity, so now he tries to do as little of that as possible. But when he gives himself a moment to breathe, he'll remember: He left Tamatoa trapped on his back.

 _It's not like he didn't deserve it,_ he thinks while he shines his hook, about a week after the whole thing happened.

 _Surely by now someone’s decided to help him out and knock him back onto his feet_ the thought sneaks in when Maui is trying to go to sleep a few nights later, _There's gotta be someone left in Lalotai who still likes him_.

He's mostly successful at shaking those thoughts off, but a few days later he finds himself flying over the island, _his_ island, for the first time. He hadn’t thought to avoid it, but now it hits him like a boulder to the guts, just how small it is. A few palm trees, a cave, so, so many days marked on the stone. He doesn't stop to look closer. He knows every grain of sand on that thing like his own body.

Instead, he lands on an island a few miles away that's considerably less emotionally fraught, transforms, and breathes. It doesn't take _too_ long to stop shaking.

He didn’t realize it would bother him that much, seeing that place again. Then again, repressing those pesky hard-to-deal-with emotions has always been a skill of his. Trying out the whole "don't give any fucks about other people" thing after being abandoned had fooled most people. It didn’t work on Tamatoa, though, which he so kindly reminded him of, last time he saw him.

And again, his mind is flooded with the image. Tamatoa (that asshole) on his back, alone. _Trapped_.

Maui grinds his palms against his eyes and groans at how goddamn _easy_ he is.

"I'm sure he's fine," he says to no one. "I'll just check, and then I'll know he's fine, and I can leave without even saying hi." 

He flicks his eyes down at his bicep, where Mini Maui is rolling his eyes. He glares back. “Or if he needs help still, I can, you know, do that. And then he’ll owe me a favor.”

Two tiny eyebrows raised, and a smirk. 

“Not like _that_ , come on! It’s not been like that since…” Maui shakes his head, his hair bouncing emphatically around his shoulders. “You know what I mean.”

He rationalizes it to himself aloud as he paces. “It’s not like he’s _evil_. I mean, he’s not really on anyone’s team but his own, but hey, look who’s talking.”

Mini Maui is crossing his arms, tapping his feet judgingly, and there’s another voice in the back of Maui’s head that reminds him _he used to be on yours_. 

_But was that what that was?_ he wonders. An era of on and off...something. Sex, sometimes. Fighting, other times. More than once a combo of both. He shakes his head.

Moana would probably have some obnoxiously smart to say about letting his own fears cloud his judgement, but Maui is not about to tell her about this plan. She’d just insist on following him again, and letting her do that once was risky enough, and not only because of the potential for her getting eaten. It’s just. Your unstable ex’s place isn’t generally the best place to bring a kid anyway, and much less so when your ex is a, you know. Moana's a worldly kid, but he's still not about to explain this whole thing to her.

So, grumbling under his breath, both at the parts of himself he's examined and the parts he's purposefully, daintily, not, Maui takes off for Lalotai.

 

When he lands, his brain is a lot quieter, but his heart is racing. The last time he came here he had been singlemindedly focused on getting his hook back, and he hadn’t had much chance to think about how it used to be, back when he and Tamatoa had been...more. 

Now, jumping down into Lalotai like it’s nothing, like it could have been any afternoon he was stopping by to get into trouble, is a wild rush of feeling. He tries to keep a smile off his face, just in case.

 

Maui tiptoes around the corners of Tamatoa’s lair. He’s not sure what it is he actually wants to see; he’ll figure that out when he feels it. He tests his grip on his hook and steels his mind--both could be necessary in dealing with Tamatoa’s sharp claws and sharper tongue.

Peeking around an absurdly large golden urn against the corner of stone wall into the chamber where he’d left Tamatoa, he realizes he’s holding his breath. 

It’s is empty.

“Oh.” he whispers softly to himself, trying to wrangle the disappointment and embarrassment creeping up on him. “That’s that, then.”

He doesn’t look down at his tattoo self, not sure he could take the “I-told-you-so” smirk quite yet, and turns to go, about-facing into a wall of extremely close, extremely smug coconut crab.

“Miss me that much?” Tamatoa’s voice is low and with an edge of tease. 

Maui knows he didn’t hide his surprise fast enough, but rolls with it anyway. He didn’t exactly make a plan for if Tamatoa hadn’t needed him, if he’d not been able to sneak out unnoticed. But there’s no denying the thrill of excitement at getting to talk himself out of it now. “Business, not pleasure, sorry.”

“Hmm, I guess you forgot how sweetly those two mixed.” Tamatoa runs his eyes slowly, deliberately, down Maui’s body. He is still very close. “Pity.”

“Maybe I just learn from my mistakes,” he says, knowing full well, as his heart thumps louder, that he does not.

“Oh, sure, sure, don’t we all,” says Tamatoa, backing up a not quite polite few steps, and grinning. “Or did you forget the little lesson you taught me?” He wriggles the stump of one of his legs in its socket, the one Maui had taken off him during that last fight before everything went to shit. “Hey, what’s a lost leg between lovers?”

Maui needs to work out what to say in response, or else figure how far he could get, scrambling under Tamatoa toward the way out, and what to transform into to get him there, but his eyes are stuck on the jagged edge of the leg he’d ripped off all those years ago. He runs a thumb along his own thigh, a ghost of the same line. He doesn’t speak.

“The question was rhetorical, babe. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” Tamatoa says, and reaches an open claw up, encircling Maui’s knee lightly. He’s frozen in place, back against the rough wall of the lair, his eyes snapping back to Tamatoa’s face. “ _I’m_ no art vandal.”

The claw, as Tamatoa pulls it back, runs a little higher up the inside of Maui’s thigh, rustling his leaf skirt on its way. Maui swallows and clears his throat. He’s got to get ahold of himself.

Tamatoa rolls his eyes dramatically, one then the other, and sighs, stepping back out of Maui’s space. “So what’s your very important demi-business?”

“Ah,” Maui starts, his voice thick, standing up straight, “right, yeah. Demi-God business, vital stuff. Now, uh, that I’m reinstated, in good with some humans in position of political power, and not on Te Fiti’s bad side, I have a lot of, you know, responsibilities.” He’s not sure how this is landing, so he twirls his hook in his hand for good measure. “I’m sure you’ve heard about some of my accomplishm--?”

“Yes, yes,” Tamatoa interrupts, clicking his claws impatiently, “Word does travel in Lalotai. Many heroics, very impressive, a touching tale of redemption. How does this involve me?”

“Oh, right. I’m...checking on things. Making sure no one is up to any funny business. Keeping people in line, it’s kinda my new gig.” Maui can feel his hold on this excuse slipping with every tick of the corner of Tamatoa’s mouth upward.

“So you came down here, to the Realm of Monsters.” Tamatoa takes one step closer.

“Yes.”

“To see, oh, just what I was up to, no big deal.” Another step.

“Yes?”

“For _work_.” He crosses his claws.

“Like I said.” Maui can see, now, the delighted, tricky glint in Tamatoa’s eye. It’s a look he often sports, himself. 

They stare at each other for a moment, Tamatoa’s gaze holding firm, and Maui trying very hard to keep his pulse under control for more than one reason. It’s just, it’s a _lot_ having him look at you like that. 

And then Tamatoa starts laughing. “Maui, darling, you could have just asked if you wanted it.”

“It’s not-- I wasn’t--” Maui starts, his brow furrowing. He _hadn’t_ gone there with the intention of hooking up, though he is not too incredibly proud to dismiss the pricks at the back of his neck, and the flare of heat in his groin that he’s willing the fronds of his skirt to hide. “I just wanted to check if you were--”

He cuts himself off before actually confessing his original motive, but it’s too late. The delight is blooming, bioluminescent, on Tamatoa’s face.

“You were _worried_ about me!”

Maui can see the shift in Tamatoa’s weight and brings his hook up in front of himself in defense. “Okay. So excuse me for wanting to see if you’d died. How’d you get flipped right-side up, anyway? I know you don’t have friends down here.”

“Oh, this is even more delicious,” says Tamatoa, ignoring the half hearted insult while creeping closer.

Maui can feel his brain telling him to run, telling him to fly, that it’d be easy. 

If he leaves, though, he won’t know what happens next. Won’t know what else Tamatoa will say in that low rumbling voice, or where else on Maui’s body (he flushes, remembering he had called it _art_ again) he could pinch. So instead, he glares petulantly, juts his chin up, and closes the tiny gap between his back and the rough rock, having nowhere else to go. 

“And here I was, holding _back_!” Tamatoa laughs, skittering closer, pinning Maui with claws on either side of him, his face very, very close. 

“What’s stopping you now, then?” Maui gets out through gritted teeth, trying not to shake, _definitely_ not looking down at where he knows he’s obviously aroused, or where his tattoo self is probably watching from his side, laughing knowingly. 

“Oh, nothing, I’m just enjoying the view. I forgot how easy you were, soft shell.” And then the tip of his massive tongue drags down from just under Maui’s chin, circling a nipple, and then slowly, infuriatingly, down to flick aside the fronds of his skirt to lave against his cock.

Maui slams his head back against the wall. It is not an understatement to say it’s been a long time. 

It is infuriating how easily Tamatoa can get him to this state. He’s Maui: sun-wrangler, wind-tamer, Chief-in-training-saver, reduced to a sweating, panting, slack-lidded mess because of a fucking bling’d out crab monster. 

It isn’t, he begrudgingly admits to himself as chokes back a groan when Tamatoa licks him again, that he doesn’t like it. It’s just the smug surety Tamatoa has, being the larger of the two, or worse, that Tamatoa thinks he’s the more wily. He wants to keep feeling this, but he also wants Tamatoa to feel it. To know what it’s like to feel pinned, trapped in this toe curling, breath-catching, good feeling way. He wants Tamatoa to know what Maui’s body can do.

 

And he has a way to do it, he realizes. It’s not like he’s ever attempted anything like it before--he’s used the hook on himself plenty, and on others...enough. But never both at once. He doesn’t have time to think through it too much, and he isn’t sure what ratio of vengeance and desire compels him, but he’s a renowned trickster-god, not a fluttering-hearted teenager anymore. He knows what he’s doing now, he tells himself.

Tamatoa only has a moment to look afraid as the hook rises, before a flash of light whites his expression out. When Maui opens his eyes, his vantage point is a lot higher, and wobblier. _That’s eyestalks, then,_ he thinks, _huh_.

Below him is his own body, its face a roller coaster of expression, from shock to fear to, of fucking course, pure, unbridled, impressed delight. Out of his body’s mouth comes “You _do_ have a few tricks left in you, dontcha, babe?”

“One or two,” he says, plucking the hook from Tamatoa’s now human hands with his claw and placing it safely on his bedazzled back. “Now where were we?”

Maui presses Tamatoa, still grinning, still just as aroused in Maui’s body as he had just been, back up against the wall. He snips the cord of the skirt with a claw and it rustles to the ground. Tamatoa is totally naked now, and Maui is biased, but god, he looks good.

Tamatoa looks down, palming his abs reverently. “Not even a scratch.”

Maui is relieved, actually. He’s taken on many shapes before, but never this one, and he’s still a little rusty. He’s not about to let Tamatoa know that, though. So he grins, clicks a claw, and says, “I’m good.”

“I remember.” 

And fuck, maybe it isn’t just Tamatoa’s voice that does this to him, because those words in his own timbre are still enough to make his stomach drop straight to his balls. Or, some kind of crab equivalent. The sensation is strange, but not unwelcome. He focuses back on Tamatoa. That’s more important, right now, than his own pleasure.

Maui slides his claw upward, pressing the tips to the rock on either side of Tamatoa’s throat, squeezing gently. His body is so soft. It’s heady, having him beneath him like that. Tamatoa’s eyes flutter closed. 

“Touch it, Maui says, “I know you want to.” 

Tamatoa doesn’t play any more games. Maui knows his curiosity outweighs any bullshit or trickery he might have otherwise had up his sleeve, which, Maui guesses, is probably why he feels okay trusting him with his body (though, apparently, not with the hook). 

He follows instructions immediately, reaching a hand down to his cock and pumping, once. His eyes blow wide open and he gasps. “Been keeping all this to yourself, eh?”

“Keep going.” Maui says, tightening his grip enough on his throat to keep Tamatoa from talking, not hard enough to do any permanent damage. 

Tamatoa goes for it, jerking himself off with wild interest, his piercing gaze somehow even more lethal coming from Maui’s face. 

Maui pinches a clawful of hair with his other arm, testing. He knows how well this works for him when he’s in his own body, but he’s not sure how Tamatoa will react to it. He pulls, and Tamatoa’s eyes roll back and he grins, wide. Nice.

He gets lost in watching, in feeling the way Tamatoa shudders below him, in the way he can feel the muscles of his body shift beneath his claws. He’s strong, which he’d always known, but it is strange to feel it from an exoskeleton. He likes watching his own body fall apart like this, likes making Tamatoa feel it. 

“You look good as a demi-god, Tamatoa,” he says, leaning in close. He can see him react to the praise, so, after loosening his grip on his throat for a second to let him get a good breath in, he clamps back down, just enough, and lays it on thicker. “How does it feel to get to touch my body like that?” 

Tamatoa’s grip on his cock gets loose and wild and Maui knows he’s close.

“Flex for me, I want to see you show how strong you are.”

Tamatoa rolls his shoulders and reaches his free hand up to Maui’s claw, prising it apart enough to get a breath in, and to speak, shakily. “Strong enough to do that. Grip harder, you beautiful bastard.”

Maui laughs, and complies. It doesn’t take much from there, a few more compliments, a few more jerks of Tamatoa’s wrist, and he’s coming, gasping, slumping onto the sand where Maui let him loose. It’s beautiful to see his own face, twisted in wild, blissed out, Tamatoa style abandon. 

He lets Tamatoa gather himself for a moment before reaching for his hook.

 

 

Maui, back in his own body, clears his sore throat. There’ll be marks on his neck for a few days, but he likes thinking about that. 

Tamatoa shakes head and clicks his claws, like he’s checking that they still work. “Good show, Maui my man,” he says, lowering himself down, curling his legs up against his body as he lays on the sand. It’s an atypically relaxed pose, and Maui feels an unexpected pang of fondness. 

“Not too bad yourself, gorgeous” Maui winks.

There’s a moment of silent calm, and then Tamatoa asks, “Hey, turn around, will you?” 

Maui pauses in tying his skirt back around himself and looks up, an eyebrow raised. “Round two already?”

“You flatter yourself. I just wanted to see your ink up close. I heard I made the exhibit, but I didn’t have a chance to see, after, you know.”

Ah. Maui turns, slowly. The tattoo depicting his epic battle with Tamatoa takes up the whole left side of his back. He pulls his hair over his shoulder to give Tamatoa the full view.

There is a silence as Tamatoa takes it in, and Maui is worried, for a moment, that the tenuous...whatever they’d just made between them would be broken by this very permanent reminder of that day. 

He is about to say something when he hears a low, warm sound behind him. He turns, and Tamatoa is smiling, soft this time. Maui sits down cautiously next to him and leans his shoulder against Tamatoa’s ruined leg.

Tamatoa’s chuckle is a soft, gravelly rumble. “Yeah, babe, I look good on you.”


End file.
